Someone to Come Home to
by Damusen
Summary: JohnnyPonyboy.  Slash!  A oneshot, the alternate to the situation that they found themselves in in the park.  In this one Ponyboy actually uses his head, god forbid!  So pointless and fluffy but sod it, why not?


Johnny flicked his long, greasy fringe out of his eyes and blinked worriedly, dark eyes flitting nervously from one edge of the lot to the other. The old sofa that he had long ago claimed as his own creaked as he shifted his weight and sat up, the cold wind whistling through his jean jacket and biting at his arms. A noise somewhere to the left of the lot had jolted him awake, his sixth sense telling him to move before he could get belted. He had sat and hyperventilated briefly before becoming aware that he was at the lot, away from his parents and away from his house. The irony of the situation was not lost on him; the irony that he felt safer in an empty lot than at home, but he had never taken away anything from English lessons and would not be able to tell you what irony meant or even how to spell it. But that was for another day; right now he was a dark lot, unaware of who else might be there, and beyond that he really was very cold.

Quite sure it wasn't any Soc's, mainly due to the unfortunate truth that they tended to travel in packs and would surely have given him the beat down already, he strained to see anything further away. Another rustle, and his head snapped around to the bushes behind the sofa. A smallish boy, who appeared the same age as him but was in fact two years younger, stepped out of the shrubs and smiled weakly, his face almost illuminated by the lights from the houses across the road.

"Hey Johnnycake."

Johnny smiled back and relaxed, his breathing visibly easing.

"Hey Pony."

Ponyboy's reddish hair looked dark in the night, and it tickled his nose as the younger kid settled onto the sofa and lay next to him. Johnny threw an arm over him and waited for both of their shivering to subside, grateful that he wasn't alone after those damn Socs had scared the crap out of him and brought back memories he'd really rather squash. He waited silently for Ponyboy to start talking, his eyes closed and body heat warming up his numb toes.

"Darry hit me."

As soon as he said it, Ponyboy felt stupid and small and very, very childish. Johnny was lucky if he didn't get beaten black and blue, he'd probably welcome a smack with open arms. Without warning he felt tears gather in his eyes and start to dribble down his cheeks. Before he knew it he was sobbing uncontrollably, back shaking and eyes and fists clenched shut. He felt himself turn towards Johnny and being enveloped in comforting, skinny, jean-jacket clad arms, his face in a warm neck and a strong pulse beating right by his ear. Johnny rubbed his back in soothing circles, silently lending anything he had that Pony needed, reminding him so much of Soda after a nightmare that he cried even harder.

After a while the sobbing subsided and bar the occasional hiccup Ponyboy felt much better, although highly ashamed and embarrassed with himself. Johnny might have been asleep, he was so still, but Pony looked up and saw his black eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Gee," Johnny whispered, "I thought you all got along fine."

Ponyboy felt about ready to curl up and die with shame, seeing as how he'd been so cruel to him earlier and now this, but Johnny didn't look afraid like he normally did, he looked thoughtful and concerned.

"Maybe he didn't mean it… He loves you and Soda more than anything…"

He tailed off and Pony opened his mouth to retort. But something in the other boy's face made him stop and think for a moment.

Darry had hit him, sure. And how you can't mean something like that he didn't know. But he hadn't hit him for no reason like Johnny's folks did. He'd come home, he hadn't known where Pony was and had gotten angry. Not even angry, he'd been upset, and scared, and worried.

Darry wasn't meant to be a parent, but he'd been forced into it. He'd given up his own life for his brothers, to keep them together and fed and…

Ponyboy felt like shit.

So he buried his face in Johnny's shoulder and smelt the mixture of hair grease, fear and an earthy smell from the other boy's skin.

"I'm going to stay here tonight," he muttered, "and then I'm gonna go home tomorrow."

"Good idea," whispered Johnny, curling up with his face opposite the other boy's, dark eyes closed.

Ponyboy felt sleepy; the crying having worn him out, but as he looked at the tanned skin and long eyelashes, dark greased hair and high cheekbones with a purple bruise marring one side, bow shaped lips swollen and cut, he had his second epiphany of the night. He had the IQ but Johnny had the depth, and whenever he needed him he had always been there, quiet and bruised and hurting and beautiful.

He smiled wryly, wondering exactly when it was that Ponyboy Curtis, A grade student, greaser and brother to two of the toughest and tuffest guys in the neighbourhood had fallen madly in love with a quiet, kicked puppy, wishing like anything that he could just take him home and keep him there.


End file.
